


On A Friday

by Jya



Series: One Way Up [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aggression, Angst, Did I Mention Angst?, Drinking, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Minor Violence, More angst, OikawaAngstFest2k17, Romance, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 00:09:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9853088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jya/pseuds/Jya
Summary: What really happened that Friday night...Companion Chapter to Gravity





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShatteredEpiphany](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShatteredEpiphany/gifts).



> WARNING - read the tags - this may not be everyone's cup of tea! Feel free to skip over it if it does not appear to your liking! THERE IS A REASON THERE ARE FOUR ANGST TAGS! 
> 
> This can be read on its own, but is meant to be a companion chapter to Gravity. If you're following that sequence, read AFTER chapter 6. It is NOT essential to the plot. 
> 
> I really just wanted to write something from Oikawa's POV in first person. Also, I wanted a more graphic depiction of what went down that night when the pair got drunk. Here it is!
> 
> Thank you for reading! Reviews and Kudos always appreciated <3
> 
> This is dedicated to ShatteredEpiphany. You motivate me everyday and fill my head with crazy ideas. <3

“Toshi, you’re so good looking. Why are you so good looking?”

“Toru, shush! Save it at least until we get upstairs!”

“But the whole world needs to know!”

“No, it doesn’t. Now let’s _go_!”

Wakatoshi steps behind me and grasps my shoulders, pushing me up the stairs at a faster pace than I think I can manage. My head is spinning and I swear the weird floral wallpaper on the walls is dancing.

“Toshi, it’s like Hogwarts! The stairs are moving!”

“Oh my GOD, Toru, Shut up! You’re going to wake the whole damn building up!”

“Toshi, can I kiss you in the stairwell?”

“What? Why?”

“Because it would be really romantic!” And my drunk mind goes off on a total tangent, imagining myself pressed against the wall, Wakatoshi passionately locking lips with me, running his hands up my shirt and –

“No Toru, it would not be. Especially if we got caught. Now hurry up.”

Wakatoshi grabs me by the collar of my jacket and my world spins faster than I can grab hold of it. I lose my balance and tumble against the wall, grateful that we’re not closer to the edge of the stairs. I would _not_ put it past myself to fall down right now.

“Seriously? Get up,” he snaps, grasping my arm and easily pulling me to my feet. He steadies me, but not gently. I feel his fingers dig into my shoulder blade, but I say nothing.

He’s just grumpy because he’s sobering up and tired from the game. Maybe he just needs another drink.

I keep my mouth shut as we climb the stairs to his apartment, and follow closely behind him as he unlocks the door and turns on the lights. I hear the clang of his keys hitting the counter as I struggle to remove my shoes, feeling like my balance is still very much absent. I glance up to find him with his head in the fridge, no doubt digging for a drink. I’m starting to think this guy might have a drinking problem.

“Drink?” Wakatoshi grunts.

I have half a mind to say no, just to see what he says. But I do want another, especially if he’s going to keep drinking. To be honest, I want my happy-go-lucky Wakatoshi back. “Sure.” I take my jacket off and hang it on the closet door.

“Wine? Beer? Something stronger?”

“It’s up to you,” I say, now pulling my jacket off and hanging it on the closet door.

“Sorry, I don’t do fruity cocktails,” Wakatoshi says, not sounding sorry at all as he pulls an unopened bottle of white wine from the fridge. “But maybe this will tickle your fancy.”

I did mention once that I didn’t mind wine. To be fair, I know nothing about it, but there are definitely people out there who have not only a great appreciation for it, but a great understanding too. Iwa-chan’s mom is one of those people. She used to let us taste her wines every now and then, explaining where it came from and what it was made of, but they honestly all tasted the same to me. I generally preferred the white ones, but maybe that was just because they were cold and therefore refreshing as well.

“Do you own wine glasses?” I ask, feeling like I should be doing something as he pries the cork from the bottle.

“Of course I do. They’re above the stove,” he says, as if I should have known.

I don’t reply, but reach above the range hood to find the cupboard stacked neatly with different styled wine glasses, beer glasses and who knows what other kinds of glasses. I’m curious about the ones that look like miniature wine glasses, but I already feel stupid after asking him if he owned glasses. Which reminds me, I don’t even know what style is for white wine.

“The ones on the far left,” he says, indicating the more slender glasses. I like the look of the fish bowl glasses, but I guess those are for something else.

“Damn, your collection is impressive,” I say, carefully grabbing two by the stems and placing them on the counter beside him.

“It was my sister’s. She’s a wine connoisseur. She replaced this collection with a crystal set on her wedding day, so these were handed down to me.”

“Sucks to be you,” I say boldly, reaching for one of the now half filled glasses.

“Cheers,” he says, and I tap my glass gently to his.

It’s crisp and cool on my tongue, but the taste of wine hits me shortly after and I feel my face twist against the alcohol. It’s much better than the straight shots I was doing earlier, but it isn’t as sweet as I would have liked.

“Don’t like it?” Wakatoshi asked.

“It’s really winey,” I say, taking another sip.

“Winey? I’m not sure that’s an actual adjective.”

“Too bad, that’s how I describe things.”

“I’d say it’s dry with hints of papaya and honeysuckle and a fruity finish.”

I stare blankly at him. “Seriously?”

“What?” He demanded.

“I’ve never heard you sound so sophisticated before,” I laugh.

“Whatever,” he grunts, taking a large sip from the glass.

“Slow down there. It’s wine, not beer,” I say, trying to keep my tone light. He feels like a bit of a loose cannon right now.

He stares back at me, giving me a look that is starting to become familiar. It says something along the lines of ‘you’re an idiot.’ It used to feel like more of a joke, but I’m not so sure anymore.

He doesn’t say a word, but picks up the pack of cigarettes from the basket on the kitchen counter, pulls aside the blinds and steps outside through the sliding glass door. He closes it behind him.

I contemplate following him, but I decide against it. Maybe he’ll chill out if he has a smoke.

I settle for leaning against the counter, sipping on my wine. He’s right, it does have a bit of a fruity finish, and I find myself liking it more and more with each sip. I just needed to get over the fact that it wasn’t as fruity as the cocktails I was drinking earlier.

I can feel my head growing fuzzy, kind of like it did earlier when I started drinking, but this feels like more of a soft, full-bodied drunk. I actually like the feeling a lot. My brain is slower to make its anxious connections, even though they are still there, floating aimlessly around my head. I don’t know why I’m feeling like this.

I feel myself shiver, and wonder if it would be ok if I went into Wakatoshi’s room and borrowed a sweater. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but I’m feeling bold, and I decide to go for it. I grab a black sweatshirt and pull it over my head, drinking in his smell as I put it on. It’s too big in the shoulders and the sleeves are a bit too long, but it’s super cozy, and I hug myself in attempt to get warm and I walk back into the kitchen.

It’s a few more minutes before he comes back inside, but he does seem like he’s relaxed. His shoulders appear less tense, and his breathing appears to be a bit deeper. He doesn’t smell very good though.

“Is that my sweater?” He asks, the earlier tension seemingly gone from his voice.

“Yeah I was cold. Is it ok?”

“Yeah. Here, I’ll turn the heat on.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you enjoying the wine now?” He asks, an amused smile forming on his face.

My glass is almost empty. “Yeah, it’s really good actually.”

“Glad to hear it,” he says, opening the bottle to refill both our glasses.

He re-corks the bottle and opens the fridge to replace it. Without thinking, I quietly and swiftly move towards him, pressing myself against him from behind.

“Whoa,” he says, quickly straightening up.

“Bad?” I ask him, forcing my face into a manipulative pout. This is definitely the wine. It’s all the wine. I stare into his eyes, forcing myself to keep contact despite how terrifying he looks right now. I don’t know what it is; he’s just so intense it scares me. Something in the pit of my stomach tells me to stop, but I can’t.

He doesn’t respond. His wrist falls off of the refrigerator door and sets itself in the small of my back. His hand is warm through my t-shirt, but it sends shivers up my spine. He pulls me close, and I maintain my eye contact, now biting my bottom lip gently, trying to read those dark olive eyes. They tell me they want me, but the crease in his brow says otherwise.

His eyes win out, and he locks his lips with mine. My breath is gone, and I feel like I can’t breathe. It’s toxic, but it’s passionate all at once. My hand reaches up to find the back of his neck and my fingers weave into his hair. He’s warm. Almost too warm.

He grabs my other arm from my side and wraps it around his waist, his own pulling me close by the shoulders, his forearm encompassing my entire width.

The kiss is intense and it’s rough. It’s like he’s fighting a battle inside his head, and it’s spilling out onto me. His tongue destroys my mouth, his lips and his teeth pulling my own open nearly wider than my jaw will allow and I feel like I’m being eaten alive.

I don’t even realize it when I let out a soft moan, and he meets it with what sounds like a growl. His hands are both on my head now, cradling my jaw as his continues to pillage my mouth. I’ve never felt anything like it. Never felt anything so amazing.

And then his teeth sink into my lip, and I squeal in pain, jumping back from him.

“Shit,” he spits.

“Ow,” I whine.

“My bad,” he says, but he doesn’t apologize, nor does he sound sorry.

“What the hell was that?” I ask, the wine fueling my frustration.

“What do you mean? You basically seduced me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you not understand English?” He demands.

“Of course I do! I did not seduce you. You fucking kissed me. And you fucking liked it. Look at yourself?” I say, gesturing to the bulge in his pants.

His hand immediately plunges into his waistband in attempt to hide it.

“Fuck you, Toru.”

“Don’t give me that shit. You tell me your straight, that you like girls, and then you pull that? Stop fucking playing with me! I know you like me, so stop trying to hide from yourself! You act so fucking brave but in reality you’re just cowering in your fucking closet!”

**Smack**

I see stars as my head bounces off the wall behind me and explodes in pain. It feels like slow motion as I fall to the ground, curling in on myself protectively. I don’t know if he slapped me or punched me or somewhere in between, but I know now why I saw danger in his eyes.

I taste blood, clenching my own eyes shut, afraid to open them. Afraid I won’t be able to. Afraid I’ll cry in front of the man who just hit me. But the tears are coming and I can’t stop them. I pull my knees closer to my chest and curl into a ball. I feel completely pathetic.

“Fuck,” I hear him mutter.

I hear him shifting, and then there’s a hand on my arm. I flinch at the contact, and he pulls away. “I didn’t mean to,” he says quietly.

I open my eyes, which are blurry with tears, and I look up to meet his. I wouldn’t say he looks sorry, but he looks legitimately shocked.

“Are you ok?” He asks, moving his hand toward me, more hesitantly this time.

Without even thinking about it, I nod. My head hurts, but my heart hurts more.

“Can you stand?” He asks, offering me his hand.

I glance at his hand, sniffle against the mucus pooling in my nose, then take it. He pulls me to my feet gently, maybe more gently than he’s ever handled me, then steps back.

“I uh, I need to cool down. I’m going to take a shower. That ok?”

“Yeah,” I whisper, feeling that my voice might fail me if I try to speak properly .

He looks like he wants to say more, to touch me again or maybe even kiss me, but he doesn’t. He nods awkwardly and turns away, nearly running into the bathroom and locking the door behind him.

As he disappears, for some reason, all I can think about is Iwa-chan. Maybe it’s because I know how he’d respond if he saw what just happened; maybe it’s because I know he’d protect me with everything he had. It could also be because he’d kick my ass if I didn’t leave this place right now after that. Fuck I miss him so much.

I look around the place for my phone, finding it in my jacket pocket. I ignore the messages on the main screen and go straight for my chat with my best friend. It’s evening there, and he’s probably at practice. But I don’t care.

**Oikawa: I miss you**

**Oikawa: Hope you’re well**

I stare a second longer at the screen before locking it. I leave it on the table and leave the room. The living room is dark, and I find myself in Wakatoshi’s bedroom. The bed is made, and I collapse on top of it, throwing my arm across my eyes, which are threatening tears once more.

I’ve been so good about keeping my feelings for Iwa-chan under control since I got here. Apparently one conversation and one good smack from the guy I currently have feelings for is all it takes to tear down the carefully guarded walls around my heart, the ones I thought were containing my feelings for my best friend.

It’s been over a month now. I’ve missed him so much. It’s weird not having him around, constantly yelling at me for overworking myself, giving me shit for staying up to late… I miss all of that, but deep down, there’s so much more I miss. There is so much more to it.

_No, idiot, there isn’t._

There can’t be. There cannot be more than friendship. I wanted more, and I gave him every chance imaginable to show me that there might something else there. I fought with myself, back and forth for months trying to decide if he had feelings for me. He’s always been there, _always_. No matter what I do, no matter how bad or how stupid it is, he’s always there to pick me up. Even half way across the world, he still worries about me and tries to take care of me. I love him for it, I really do.

But there is so much more that I love him for too.

For so long, I wanted something else. I put myself out there, and did everything _but_ verbalize my feelings. If there were any chance that he felt the same, he would have picked up on it.

In the end, the perfect opportunity fell into my lap. I was offered a scholarship on the other side of the globe. I knew I needed to get over him, and here was my perfect opportunity.

So I said goodbye. Four years away would solve all of my problems. I would have no choice but to get over him.

Yet here I am, staring up at the ceiling, blowing my long bangs off of my forehead, thinking about him. Why now? Why after that particular incident? Or was it just because I talked to Tadashi about him tonight?

I really need a haircut… and some product.

I’m actually shocked at the fact that I told Tadashi that story. The poor guy seemed to be in such distress, but I had no idea it would open these wound so wide.

Should I have told Iwa-chan before I left? Part of me thinks I should have. I’ve managed to avoid wondering by simply blocking the thoughts out. I like to think I’m good at that. Granted, I’ve had a pretty decent distraction.

But here I am again, with another guy that may or may not want me. Iwa-chan never said he wanted me, but I felt like he did. Wakatoshi _says_ he doesn’t want me, but then he holds me and kisses me so tenderly that I don’t think I can believe his words. But then after tonight, do I still really think he wants me? Fuck, I don’t know.

Ugh, how did everything get so fucked up? Why am I drawn to people like this? People who don’t want me.

My eyes begin to sting.

I quickly wrench myself off the bed, listening closely to confirm that the shower is still flowing steadily. Making my way into the kitchen, I collect my glass from the counter and open the cupboard holding several bottles of various coloured liquor. Without stopping to examine them, I grab the closest bottle and pour a decent amount into my wine glass.

I don’t want to feel these feelings anymore.

Tonight after I told Tadashi about Iwa-chan, I drank and I forgot.

Now I want to forget again. This night is going to haunt me if I don’t.

I seal the bottle, stash it back in the cupboard, then take a long drink from the cup.

It hits my throat, and despite the large amounts I’ve drunk tonight, it still burns like someone is scraping a scalpel across the back of my esophagus. I clench my eyes shut tightly, feeling the tears escaping, and finish the drink. It burns like fire all the way down, and my stomach protests as it rains down against the sensitive lining of my gut. I feel like I want to be sick, but for once my mind says no. The alcohol needs to stay in me long enough to absorb into my blood stream regardless of how fat it makes me look… or feel for that matter.

I stare at the bottom of the empty cup, wondering if I should have more. My head feels like it’s spinning, but I still feel the tightness in my chest, not to mention the lump in my throat… and the back of my head.

It still hurts

I don’t want to feel this pain anymore.

The pain of being unwanted.

I reach to the cupboard once more, this time pulling out a bottle of clear liquor and filling my glass, this time with a little more.

Let this be enough to make the pain stop.

I don’t want to think anymore.

I don’t want to feel anything.

I slam the drink back with force, feeling the pain against my throat, but this time embracing it, nearly enjoying the burn as it slides down into my stomach. My eyes clench tightly again, and another round of fresh tears come. But my head is slowing down, and I drop the cup on the counter as I slide to the ground.

I want to play volleyball.

I want to serve until I can’t feel the palm of my hand.

I want to jump until my legs refuse to rebound anymore.

It’s the only way I know how to deal with this… feeling.

I just want to forget.


End file.
